Denigrata Nocte
by Elsyra
Summary: An unusual Ministry case has Harry and his friends perplexed when supposed answers only lead to new questions. To make matters worse, Harry's non-existent romance life has him wondering whether or not he will ever find his perfect match. One Draco Malfoy might just hold answers to both.
1. The Potion

Hullo, everyone! This is my first fanfiction in a while. I was in the mood for a mystery decided that Drarry fit very well in the mix. Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

Rated: T for mild swearing and some romantic references

Word Count: 1431

* * *

"Oh, there you are, Harry. Come take a look at this new publication Luna sent us. She and Neville are having a lovely time in India and they've been profiling very rare magical creature and plant species."

Harry promptly plopped onto the couch, ignoring Ginny's eye roll as well as her comments on his lazy posture. "Why am I not surprised that they're spending their _honeymoon_ doing work?" he chuckled. "Whatever makes them happy, I suppose…"

"Well, if the Longbottom-Lovegood family produces progeny, they could be casted in a muggle family television—meet the 'Super Science Family!' It sounds like something Hermione would have watched as a child."

"What would I have watched?" Hermione asked, poking her head in the door.

Harry got up at once. "Here, let me help you with those groceries."

"Thank you, Harry. You could have just levitated them, though. Forgetting you're a wizard again?" she teased. All three friends began to put away the food.

"As if the Ministry would let me," Harry groaned. "And anyway, Hermione, if I don't ever lift things the muggle way, I'll get as fat and lazy as Dudley was when we were kids."

Ginny huffed slightly whilst rearranging the dry goods cabinet to fit in another box of rice. "I wish you would not make fun of your cousin so much. Honestly, when you introduced us all, I was very confused; he's nothing like you described him. He's not even overweight now, just very tall."

"Alright, I'll give him that." Harry shrugged. "He spars with me too. And most of the time, he starts it, you know."

"Yes, and you just reciprocate."

Instead of responding, Harry opted for a whistle until Hermione started to laugh. "You two really do bicker like an old married couple. It's almost a shame you'll never date again."

"Whhhhhy?" Ginny groaned faux-dramatically, her face toward the sky in complaint against some diety. "Why does every man I touch turn gay!?"

Harry was about to make an insensitive comment when a breathless Ron walked through the door. "Whose bloody damned idea was it to make the winter so damned cold!? I swear, if I have to chase one more wanker down the street in this weather, I'm going to—"

"You're _going _to watch your language, Ronald. And perhaps if you actually wore the endless scarves and gloves your mother makes for you ever year, you would not mind the cold so much. Don't ask me to side-along-apparate you to Saint Mungo's for pneumonia-by-stupidity."

Ginny snorted at her brother, who returned the gesture with a glare. "No one asked _you_," he muttered. "So… How was everyone's day?"

"Lovely," Hermione answered. "My office accomplished a lot for today, so I had time to work on the newest S.P.E.W. project—"

"But you _promised_ to keep it a secret until it was completely followed through," Harry interjected, trying to sound very enthusiastic. He and Ron had silently agreed that this was the best way to avoid very long elf freedom lectures.

Hermione flushed slightly. "That's right—I did. Oh, I suppose it would be rude of me to spoil the surprise."

"Right, well—we will just have to wait then," Harry said, smiling in relief. "Anyway, my day went well, Ron. My team is completely burnt out of ideas on our new case, so we've agreed to take a rest day."

"Really?" Ron's brows rose. "Kingsley let you have break?"

Forgetting her previous excitement, Hermione piped up. "He's not _that _unreasonable of a head Auror. And it will do Harry some good to get a bit of rest, even if he has to take a dreamless sleep potion to do it," she said, eying him with slight concern.

"Speaking of which," Harry said, "our newest case is on a single stolen potion. We were assigned different aspects of the crime and I have the potion itself, and any other objects of question found in the shop. Kingsley encouraged bouncing ideas off of colleagues, since the whole thing isn't much of a secret. What _has _been kept under wraps will likely be the Prophet's headline tomorrow morning. I brought the case file here, not that it's much help. We barely have anything to go on. There was so little evidence of foul play that the investigation team seriously considered reporting it as accidental. Most likely, someone highly skilled and dangerous has done this."

Ginny motioned to the couch, taking the manila folder Harry handed her. "Once the beans are spilled, there's no going back. The thief definitely knows you're going after him or her. We might as well all look at it," she suggested, enchanting the contents to float in mid-air so that each magician could read one paper, then wave it away and take the next fluidly.

"All this fuss over one potion," Ron remarked curiously. "Why is it so important?"

"That is a good question, Ronald. May I see the profile of the potion itself, Harry?" She read the paper he passed to her, looking more shocked by the second.

"What? What is it, 'Mione?"

Hermione stood up and sprinted down the hallway into another room. The others stared quizzically until she returned with a book and a small, ornate jar.

"'Moste Potente Potions?' Why have you got _that? _I don't recall referencing it since fifth year," Ginny mused.

"More importantly, why are you holding our sugar jar like it's the elixir of life?"

Hermione waved her husband silent as she found the page she sought. "Here it is—I knew I saw this somewhere before. It is such a rare potion that most books never mention it, but Moste Potente Potions had to put it in the foot notes because it was so relevant to—"

"You actually _read _the foot notes?" Harry asked incredulously.

Ron laughed and clapped his best mate on the shoulder. "I don't see why you're surprised, after all this time."

"Ahem." Silence ensued, pending Hermione's glaring wrath. "As I was saying, '_Denigrata Nocte,'_ is a concoction of other potions. It means 'blackened night' from old Latin and, the historical idea is that nothing should be darker than night but evil. Needless to say, this potion is very rare, dangerous, and illegal. Most incidental batches are brewed completely by accident. Given _Denigrata Nocte _and a few very simple household ingredients…" She held up the sugar for emphasis. "…very potent and dark magic can be formed."

"Well no wonder the shop owner almost ran me over by during the interview. He kept putting flower petals on the floor and dancing around. Honestly, I wondered if he was going mad. Luckily for us, he had up-to-date inventory lists to aid the investigation, or else we would have be on a wild goose chase for more."

Hermione stared at him. "Were they white or pink?"

"The lists?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"The _petals?_"

"Erm, I'm pretty sure they were white."

"White lotus petals. They are meant to ward off potion-specific dark magic. Neville and I have had a few discussions about flowers' joint uses in Herbology and Healing. Here, take a look at this text, Harry."

Harry waved the floating papers toward himself and skimmed the report. "Lotus can't be the only protective charm; the old man had a slew of relics he was probably using for the same reason. Everyone in our division was too busy feeling sorry for how crazy they thought he was to pay attention. Hermione, do you think it's possible for any of these protection methods to be directly related to the potion itself?"

"It is possible. I'll have to research it."

Ginny eyed the papers next and bit her lip before she spoke. "Aren't white lotus flowers associated with Asian culture? As signs of peace and purity? I can't imagine how they specifically connect to some dark potion, except as a general ward from evil."

"We haven't got many leads to go on, here. No matter how small the details are, our whole department has been encouraged to find out whatever we can and add it to the files for our next meeting."

"It will be like a Wizarding think-tank!" Hermione crowed, her excitement evidently returning full-blown. "Oh Harry, I do love it when they give you a good mystery, not just one of those draining 'chase the ex-death-eaters' missions."

"I get it, 'Mione. Using less brawn and more brain is great for my health; everyone else knows the rest." Ron, Ginny, and Harry laughed at their friend's enthusiasm so that, despite her annoyance, Hermione could not help but smile either.

* * *

Woo! Harry has a mystery to solve. I am so sorry, my fellow Draco fanatics! I promise the beautiful, glorious, magnificent Draco will make his lovely appearance in Chapter 2, which I already have typed and am editing.

The fact the got rid of the old blue review button made me slightly depressed, but I have come to adore our new friend, the review box. He needs some love, like every pet-puppy, kitten, snake, or parakeet. Who are you not to give that to him? Go on-follow your conscience. It will tell you to to the right thing and review. :D


	2. The Case

Here it is-chapter 2! In which the ever-fabulous Draco Malfoy dost appear. :D Enjoy, friends!

* * *

Wednesday had never seen a more relaxed Harry Potter. The singing bathroom mirror—which had been a strange birthday gift from two years past—even showed lessening of dark circles under his bright emerald eyes.

"_Never have I seen_

_ Such eyes this brightened sheen!_

_ Smiling all aglow,_

_ 'Ere love makes him slow."_

Harry rolled his eyes as the mirror finished its small song. "You _always _say that. I'm not in love, you stupid piece of glass; I just got a good night's sleep." It tittered at him reprovingly.

"_'De-Nile' is not simply a river_

_ Love's not a thief; 'tis a giver_

_Take back the words you say_

_Or perhaps in this state you shall stay."_

Sighing in exasperation, Harry put the tooth powder away and dried his hair. "So what? You think I'll remain a perpetual bachelor because I'm _denying _that I've already met the right man. If so, why don't you stop giving me little verses and point me in the right direction? Then, I might actually get laid."

He ignored the mirror's usual indirect answers and muttered, "why on earth don't I melt you?" But if Harry was honest with himself, the Shakespearean insults directed at him in sonnet form before he Disapparated left a smile on his face.

The only difference between Harry's morning than any other was that usually he and a few coworkers met at a muggle coffee shop several blocks from his flat. Today he had taken the opportunity to sleep in, and he reckoned the others had as well. He apparated to the employee entrance of the Ministry with very little time to spare. Several witches and wizards greeted him, grinning or waving as always, and a few commented on how nice he looked. Harry flushed, realizing that he actually wore decent dress robes instead of looking exhausted and tattered in his 'hunting dark wizards cloak'. That piece of fabric had definitely seen better days.

Before he reached the gates to the Ministry's floo network, Harry's eyes caught a startling grey gaze and he waved, smiling at Draco Malfoy from across the platform. The blonde tipped his hat, a classy pin-striped fedora, at Harry. As always, Malfoy looked fit and put together—and Harry could have sworn he saw the git break into a slight smile before he disappeared.

Harry grinned fondly and let a few people behind him pass in line so he could check his bag for everything he needed. On cases like these, he always seemed to forget something for meetings, so he could not let other thoughts distract him.

"Are you going to floo in anytime today?" Bobby Shoenfeld asked in his booming, Hagrid-like voice. Harry's newest Auror team member was a very tall Englishman with a thick, muscular frame and light brown hair. He always seemed to be in a good mood, which annoyed everyone else during tough cases.

"Alright, alright," Harry chuckled and stepped into the fireplace, saluting Shoenfeld. "Off to the wolf pit now?"

"Ya don't say! Well, you're the famous one, so they'll descend on you first for ideas," Shoenfeld laughed. "Go on, then. There's a line, ya know."

Azure flames engulfed Harry at the words "Ministry of Magic!" and transported him into the ever familiar marble lobby. The fountain, which was now charmed to change every day, contained flirtatious nymphs this time. They giggled and splashed at Harry as he passed, awed when he conjured pretty rosettes that floated onto their marble hair.

"Always the charmer, eh? Wonder why ya 'aven't got yerself a girl yet," Shoenfeld commented on their way to the elevator.

"Erm, about that…"

"G'morning, mate!" Ron announced cheerily, stepping out of another fireplace. "'Mione picked up some pastries for us." His face sobered up at the sight of Harry's team mate. "Oh. Shoenfeld," he muttered.

"Hullo, Auror Weasley! Wond'ful morning, eh? Well, I'll see you upstairs, Auror Potter."

As he walked away, Ron murmuered, "I _hate _that bugger," and Harry filled Hermione's role by elbowing him. "What? He's always so damn weird and—I dunno, perky? Something's wrong with him."

"I dunno what's gotten you so testy around Bobby. He really is a nice man… With an even nicer arse…" Harry sighed dreamily, stopping to enjoy the view where Shoenfeld bent down to pick up a dropped pen by the elevator.

Ron snorted, his freckles rolling in a wave of disgust. "If he weren't straighter than this building, I'd be very worried."

"Whatever. I'll see you at lunch, hopefully. Then again, you never know what Kingsley will have us do, so don't count on it." Ron shrugged, smiled his goodbye, and went off to the opposite side of the hall.

Although he could not like his best mate's aversion to Shoenfeld, Harry tried not to dwell on it for long; there was no use in logic when Ron just didn't like someone. He might as well ask Ron to get along with Victor Krum for all the good it would do. As far as he knew, Shoenfeld had never even met Hermione let alone made passes at her, and he was always perfectly polite to Ron. He was not going to date Harry either, as Ron had so keenly pointed out.

Shoenfeld greeted Harry again once they were on their way to the 'think tank' meeting. Talk of the case filled their hallway until Kingsley opened the conference room. "Please settle down. Save your ideas to share with everyone at once—we will have timed turns to speak, since this is an unusual case. The briefing on Monday may have left you with more questions than answers, so I hope you have been able to fill in as many blanks as possible on your assigned topics. Now, let's get started."

Kingsley straightened his midnight blue dress robes and stood at the head of the table, eying the Aurors around him as they took their seats. He cast a spell similar to Ginny's midair arrangement of documents. A large, floating screen appeared at behind him, visible once he, too, sat down.

"Alright, we will start with an introductory profile, courtesy of Auror Shoenfeld, followed by Auror Finch's topic: the shop's customer list and possible suspects. You may ask other partners to support your findings. Let's keep this thorough but brief, people. Please proceed, Bobby."

Shoenfeld smiled and tapped the main point papers floating in midair so that they glowed in highlighted orange. "Righ' then, the theft was committed in a Mr. Frederico Doyle's Ingenious Ingredients on the muggle-protected co'ner of South Rowder and Main Street, 22 November. Doyle's incident report starts with 'is quick leave fer lunch. Approx'mately half an hour later, 'e returned to find one stolen potion. The brew in question is a dan'grous infusion of dark ingredients, known in research as _Deni—Denigr… _Anyone know how ter say it?"

Harry looked around as witches and wizards stared at the paper. He reckoned that no one wanted to look like an idiot by saying the wrong word. "_Denigrata Notte_," he informed them. "You can thank Hermione Granger for that one, everyone; don't look at me. Carry on, Bobby." Harry grinned slightly to see the named man's adorable face flush.

"Thanks, Harry. I mean, Auror Potter."

"Skip formalities and get on with the case, Shoenfeld," Kingsley yawned, shuffling his papers. Harry resisted the urge to glare at his boss and turned red, staring down at the oak table.

"Er, righ' then. The very limited time allotted fer the crime suggests prem'ditation and careful plannin' on our thief's part. 'e or she left only one tangible clue that old man Doyle swears 'e had never before seen in 'is shop: a tag, torn from an art'cle of clothin' with a few strands of black fabric. No prints, magical or o'erwise."

"Thank you." Kingsley nodded encouragingly to Shoenfeld, who gave a huge, reverent grin. "Next, Auror Finch will report on the suspect list."

Andria Finch appeared to be a very shrewd, serious witch. She was indeed very intelligent and capable, but everyone knew trouble when they recognized the cat-who-ate-the-canary smirk on her face. "It turns out that old man Doyle's account did not give us much help narrowing down the suspect pool. He has suffered from lapses of judgment and suggestions to be treated in Saint Mungos. _But_—I managed to dig up a vast clientele list in one of his pensieves, which his brother has thankfully made him update in case of such emergencies. Auror Felix and I discussed the wards on his business and how they are selectively permeable to clients. Felix, if you wouldn't mind?"

A small, wiry man, older than most of the other Aurors, nodded to her. "Of course. There was absolutely no sign of these protective enchantments being destroyed, altered, or recast, so we assume that the thief must be a regular client. Mr. Doyle allowed his wards to detect the intentionof the entering witch or wizard. He also had an available apparation point only _out _of his shop in his shoe closet, for his own convenience, which the suspect most likely used to escape. The time between which Doyle left and returned from lunch did not allow the thief much time for exploration; it is likely he or she knew about the apparation point beforehand. Andria?"

"Thank you, Felix. The only way for our thief to enter the shop was with the intention to buy something. He or she was a long-time customer who would have warmed up to Doyle enough for him to accidentally mention the apparation point. This narrows down our suspect list down to about one hundred and seventy regulars to his shop, Doyle's old friends or family, and slightly less frequent customers. Copies of our new list are downstairs and suspects' criminal background checks are in process. Everyone please take a copy," she said, passing them around in the circle. "Auror Potter?" she said lightly, noting his curious expression. "Care to comment?"

_Everyone else is just as willing to give input,_ Harry thought, giving a sigh in his mind. "I'm just wondering how much help criminal background checks might be. Since the suspects are open to Doyle's own relatives and friends, I don't think they'll narrow down the list by much. Intention to steal is one thing, but now that we know these wards were conditional, we can conclude that the crime was _not_ premeditated. Doyle's seventeen-year-old nephew could have been stopping in to get something for school or say hullo, and seeing the potion he just impulsively took it and went home. Not that this scenario is likely, but hopefully you understand my point. I have examined different aspects of this potion, _Denigrata Nocte, _with a few friends, to find out that it is very, very rare. It has also been easily mistaken for other drafts of Light magic, which has resulted in violent explosions. Quite possibly, our focus should be on the thief's own safety; in all likelihood, they may not even know the true identity of this potion. We should also take into consideration what our suspects truly wanted, if that is the case."

Kingsley nodded, checking his watch. "Very good point, Harry. Make a note to look into similar potions and their purposes. Now, the checks will be completed soon, but as Harry has pointed out, we all need to gather more information by interviewing the family. All of you, split up into interview groups—I want every inch of Doyle's life covered to rule out any personal connections that might warrant him for a protection order. Harry, would you mind contacting Mrs. Weasley-Granger for further consultation on this case? I want you and Shoenfeld to crack down further potion information in case it comes down an emergency when we retrieve that peculiar draft.

"Right away, sir!" Shoenfeld said, eagerly saluting his boss. "I'll be right back, Harry—I just want to ask a few more questions in Kingsley's office." The room was soon bustling as everyone made their way out, which left Harry alone to his thoughts.

For once, he felt a bit underwhelmed. This case seemed almost completely tame when compared to all of his previous work. He thought happiness or at least relief should compose most of his emotions. Instead, he had felt rather lethargic and bored all day—except at the earlier sight of Malfoy.

There was work, and then there was Malfoy. Harry had always harbored mixed feelings for his peculiar friend, if he could call the Slytherin that. Almost a year and a half earlier, when Harry was inducted as a full auror, he met Draco for the first time since the Malfoys' post-war trial. He had spoken for Narcissa and Draco, but against Lucius. Mother and son were freed of all charges, except enabling, for which both were forced into months of community service. Neither spoke to Lucius, who had been sentenced to life in Azkaban and was shortly killed by vengeful inmates. After the trial, when Harry returned the youngest Malfoy's wand, they had not exchanged words. So, when Harry found himself and Draco accidentally covered in coffee one morning on his way to work, he had been floored and unsure of what to say.

"Still don't know how to watch where you're going, eh, Potter?" Malfoy had dawled, seeming remarkably calm. He licked his lips. "At least you're taste in coffee is not _utterly_ hopeless. Triple crème latte. Do I detect a hint of nutmeg?"

Malfoy _had _jumped in surprise when Harry laughed. Thus began their odd stab at amicable communication, in which Harry finally understood Malfoy's brutal humor and Malfoy attempted to ignore all of Harry's most repulsive idiosyncrasies.

It was not easy, given unfortunate circumstances. Death threats and humiliating messages were common occurrences in Malfoy's and Zambini's offices. Zambini had just barely slid by background checks, and Malfoy had managed to move the Ministry employment officers with his original speech about how much he wanted to give back to their war-torn world and this was the best opportunity. He worked ten times harder than Zambini, who settled for a meager position in the complaint department. Malfoy and Harry still laughed about it now.

Other people weren't always the problem, though, since Mafloy had been forced grow an extraordinarily thick skin for verbal injury. He and Harry regularly conversed and joked on a weekly basis. Yet, whenever Harry offered the other man lunch, coffee, or even to simply take a walk outside, Malfoy always declined. At first, Harry thought the blonde was embarrassed to be seen with his childhood arch rival, or that he would be targeted by nasty pests more often as a result. Finally, Harry had become so frustrated that he could no longer avoid confrontation… even though their speaking terms had only commenced four weeks prior.

"Don't flatter yourself, Potter. I am more than good enough to be seen with you. Not to mention that another death threat sent by biting owl or howler would hardly be out of the ordinary. I just burn them all. Now _you_ need to get it through your thick head that this doesn't have to do with you. I simply cannot afford time for friendship of large magnitudes at present."

Harry had tried in vain to argue that Malfoy was only putting up walls to prevent others from helping him, but it was no use. His owl messages returned unopened for a week, after which they met again in the hallway and briefly spoke. Their conversations slowly returned to their normal pace. Malfoy even had the courtesy to tell Harry when he was leaving on secret Ministry mission. As one of their top researchers, he had already visited Aruba, the Congo, Denmark, and India for Unspeakables' never-ending information files. Every trip made him energized and happy, at least as much as he could bear to show it before Harry did something else deserving of playful insults.

For some reason, Harry had never mentioned his encounters with Malfoy to his friends. Ron had stormed into his office one day to interrogate him and ask if the ferret had put him under the Imperious Curse, but Harry simply laughed and explained that it was nothing. He conveniently only talked with Malfoy during Ron's working shifts and avoided awkward questions.

After Harry cooled his constant questioning of Malfoy's motives, he realized that in all the years they had known each other, he really never gave the blonde a break. He of all people understood what it was like to need some space, especially from friends dearest to him. Malfoy's whole life seemed like one huge bombardment just as his had been. Harry silently conceded to the fact that they both deserved a break, and he laid off, much to Malfoy's relief. In fact, he seemed happier and less insulting every day...

"Coming, Harry?" Shoenfeld asked in a chipper voice, interrupting Harry's Malfoy-induced stupor.

"Oh, right." Harry sighed. "Let's get this over with, then."

* * *

How was it? Good? Bad? Horrifyingly, sickeningly, Pansy-like ugly? Just let me know! :D


	3. The Files

Hullo, all! I hope everyone is alive and well after Hurricane Sandy. My family and I are fine, though our neighborhood has suffered a large amount of foliage debris issues. I am thankful to have power and internet and to have helped those without heat through last week.

Now, for the continuation of _Denigrata Nocte,_ which I will try to update at least once every two weeks-I can't promise any certain day of the week, but you will definitely see more chapters soon. Hope you enjoy #3! :D

* * *

"You had better be fire-calling me for something _important_ this time, Ronald Weasley. I've told you countless times—my work keeps me busy. The sooner I get it done, the sooner I can come home and snog you." Hermione's annoyed face appeared in the fireplace, crackling threateningly so that Harry and Shoenfeld had to back away.

"Hullo, Mrs. Weasley-Granger. It's Bobby Shoenfeld an' 'arry Potter!"

"Oh." Hermione cleared her throat, looking away bashfully. "Sorry about that, gentlemen. Do you need anything, Harry?"

"Kingsley's asked me to ask _you_ to ask _your_ _books_ for more information pertaining to our case. Again."

Fire-Hermione rolled huffed, "I'm almost surprised he hasn't demanded I take up another Ministry post as another auror. I am proud of you and Ron, but honestly, we'd all kill each other if we had to work together. Things have been so much smoother ever since you transferred from his team."

Harry nodded and then explained to Shoenfeld. "Ron and I worked together, since he's my best mate and all, but Kingsley begged the administrators to have me on this team about three months before your induction." He turned back to the fireplace and sighed. "I'm sorry, Hermione. We know you're busy, but could you dig up anything during lunch? I'm going to tell Kingsley he should just start paying you a regular Auror salary on top of yours."

"Oh, Harry, you know I don't really mind. At least you're _direct _when you fire-call to ask me for something. Well, information doesn't apply itself, you know—I should get going. I'll owl you later with whatever comes up. It was nice to see you, too, Auror Shoenfeld. Good luck with the hunt, both of you."

Hermione's face disappeared and the fire cooled once more. Harry gathered his own files as Shoenfeld rattled on about something or other. He had the good grace to try not ogling his teammate's arse while the poor bloke wasn't even paying attention-_tried_.

"Are you alrigh', mate? You seem a bit distracted today. Maybe this'll help—a secretary got them for us jus' now." He offered Harry a cup of coffee.

Harry sipped the cup's contents eagerly and sighed. "Thanks. I'm fine. It' just… Something my magic mirror told me this morning, that's all."

Shoenfeld's eyes met Harry's curiously. "Magic mirror, eh? Isn't tha' something? Hmm, ya don' seem the type ter have one of those."

Harry flushed. "It was a gift. And it insults me all the time. I never had the time to get rid of it."

"Ya kept it even though it insults ya?"

"Erm, yes…" Harry trailed off as the other Auror stared at him once again.

"I was just wond'rin, Harry… I know it's a bit personal, but… are you bent?"

Harry almost choked on air. "I—how did you—?"

"Jus' had a feelin. Oh, an' my cousin Taylor is, too. 'e's always been a bit odd. Not that _you're _odd, 'arry, beggin' yer pardon." Shoenfeld smiled and hung on to the elevator chord.

Harry smiled slowly and reached up as well. "It's nice that you don't mind. Sometimes I wish I could just tell everyone and get it over with, but I don't want all that fuss. I hate the media."

"It would be alrigh' ya know. You've always dealt wi' them nutter Prophet writers well, in my opinion."

Harry was so distracted by Shoenfeld's praise that almost forgot to follow his teammate out of the elevator. "Bobby… Do you think maybe we could—?"

"Oy! Haven't seen you down here in ages, Harry!" Marie Thompson, Harry's neighbor and the Ministry Information Archive head manager waved him over eagerly. Her long purple hair up in a bun with chop sticks stuck out as much needed relief in such a dark, boring atmosphere. She and Harry had become good friends ever since he offered to help her with heavy groceries after she almost levitated them in front of muggles. Usually, Harry was quite pleased to see Marie, but she had terrible timing and had unintentionally interrupted his possible request for a date. It would take ages for him to gather up the nerve again, especially if Shoen—Bobby—kept grinning at him adorably.

"Hullo there, Marie." He waved weakly.

"How enthusiastic you are. Who pissed in your pumpkin juice?" she snorted.

"What? I'm glad to see you! Just a bit dazed, that's all."

"Don' worry 'bout 'im, miss. Been like tha' all day," Bobby laughed, and Harry couldn't resist smiling in response.

Marie eyed them both suspiciously. "I know why _you two _are here…" Harry groaned internally, silently pleading his friend not to give away his secret. "…To give me more work! Ugh. Aurors. Alright, Shoenfeld, you can start in section 83D, down fifteen rows to the left and past three shelves. I'm going to dig something up for Harry."

"We'll try not to give you too much more, right mate?" Bobby boomed, patting Harry's back and laughing when he crossed to his intended section.

"Alright," Marie whispered. "Now tell me exactly for how long you've been shagging him."

Harry squawked indignantly. "He—we—I haven't been shagging anybody!"

"Oh, so he's on top. Should've guessed."

"No! It's not like that," he hissed glaring daggers at Marie. "And what makes you think I'd bottom? Also, I don't even know if he's bent or not, either. I _was _going to ask him to dinner or Proms*, or something like that. Until _you _interrupted me."

Marie rolled her eyes. "Well then, go do it before some other lucky bloke or bird snatches him up. Oh, and Harry?"

"_What?_"

"Bobby plays for both teams. And don't ask him to proms; he hates classical music. For Merlin's sake, take him to a club, get him a little tipsy, and have a good time. You both need it, if you ask me."

"I _wasn't_ asking you, but thank you. Really. Ron keeps telling me that Bobby is straight, so I guess I just assumed he was right… Oh well. Anyway, should I go where Bobby is for our research?"

"Auror Weasley couldn't tell a straight man from a hippopotamus," she snorted. "And no, go to the opposite side of the place or you won't get any work done. What kind of Ministry worker do you take me for, Harry Potter?"

Harry grinned, feeling more assured of himself than he had recently. _Maybe that stupid mirror of mine wasn't half wrong. If I play this right, I might have a date and possibly more._

Within fifteen minutes, Harry was forced by his own stubborn libido to cast a focusing spell on himself. Even the coffee hadn't stir him from his reverent thoughts of Bobby Shoenfeld's rock-hard abs; it only succeeded in reminding him that said sweetheart had offered him said drink. _Concentrate!_ He practically screamed at himself, almost pulling a Dobby.

Luckily, the temporary focus charm enabled Harry to start tracking down some useful bits of information on accidental potion-brewing incidents. As nice as thoughts of Bobby were, he did not want to get fired.

Not so luckily, the entire Ministry lacked exact records of any _Denigrata Notte _incidents; at least none had ever been reported or recorded. There were related potions incidents, however, that started to weave together in Harry's mind as a good—or very, _very_ bad—idea of just what his team might be facing. He grimaced and glossed over another article.

_Case 52H336070-1: Simple stitch-dissolving draft explosion_

_On the night of January 24__th__, a Miss Yvonne Tutlage of Devonshire, pureblood fortune heiress, was admitted to Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries on account of accidental laceration. Ingestion resulted in explosion ranging to ten other rooms. Patient, two nurses, and one healer died. Specimen ingested (see article 3) made by hospital brewer Andrew Lloyd, also DOI. Investigation ruled out foul play, no charges pressed against St. Mungo's._

Harry winced internally at the thought of the tragic death-by-seemingly-innocent-draft. No wonder he had hated Potions so much. Dangerous liquid mixtures had always creeped him out, even from muggle chemists. He summoned the related potions document immediately.

_Case 52H336070-3: Potion Profile _

_Patented to: F. R. Underland, C 1987, Approved and Marketed: 1988_

_Purpose: Dissolves most forms of stitches (applied magically or classically, does not treat cursed stitches)_

_Side-effects: Minor oozing of blue slime from wounds up to three days, tickling of treated areas, slight nausea, and itchy skin. _

_Main ingredients in explosive reaction: juniper and caraway, derived from common ale._

_Incident Summation: Samples able to be extracted from victim's cadaver. Brewing completely correct. Patient's previously unidentified ingestion of alcohol resulted in explosion. Intoxication skillfully hidden by undetected charms. _

Great. Miss Tutlage, had gotten herself drunk on gin and accidentally killed by covering it up. He had seen too many a case end up similarly. Quickly remembering Hermione's warning about household ingredients, Harry pulled out his _Denigrata Notte _notes and compared ingredients. Although there were no specific brewing instructions ever published for the potion, the known main ingredients matched up with that of the stitch-dissolver. They also matched up with a handful of common potions, but at least it was a start. He looked over the case's additional files, noted their number, and moved on to more incidents.

About two hours and about twenty case files later, Harry had started a decent list of incidental ingredients: peppermint oil, fish scales juniper, orange rind, and—most commonly—table sugar. There was no way to stop and track every buyer. The majority of cases ended in explosions, the worst of them having killed fifteen people and destroyed an entire produce farm.

Harry decided to get his case files copied and make his way over to Shoenfeld, whose eyes were lit with curiosity that made Harry feel warm inside. He suddenly possessed the urge to curl up in the taller male's arms and sleep.

_Whoa! Down boy! _He told himself. His temporary focus charm had certainly worn off by now, and snogging Bobby Shoenfeld sounded excellent right about now. Instead, he had to settle for listening to the fit Auror while they walked to the front desk.

"Oh, 'arry, I see you're onto somethin' new. I 'aven't have much luck, but I copied the lot jus' in case. Ya wouldn't mind helpin' me sort through it later, would ya?"

"Of course not, Bobby" Harry said, with a motherly-gentleness that surprised even himself. He glared in Marie's giggling direction and hid behind a shelf, casually pulling Shoenfeld with him.

"Erm, are ya _sure _you're alrigh'?"

"I… feel a bit peckish, I guess."

"How 'bout we grab a bite down in the canteen?"

Harry mustered up his Gryffindor nerve and took Shoenfeld's hand. "We've got time. What d'ya say we go out to lunch in town. It's on me."

"Oh, 'arry, you don' 'ave to…"

"I insist, my treat."

"Well, it'll be nice ta get out a li'tle. I 'aven't been out in ages," Bobby laughed as he started toward the front desk. "I s'pose it's my own fault, bein' an auror an' all." His baby blue eyes bashfully caught Harry's emerald gaze and captured him with awe for one split second. Then he closed them like a happy cat and gave Harry a bright, warm grin.

"We'll just have to fix that, won't we?" Harry murmured softly, smiling to himself.

* * *

Ooh! Harry has a crush on Shoenfeld! *Le gasp!* But does _he _like _Harry?_ I've been going back and forth on this myself, you know, and I wasn't even sure I should make him gay or straight, so there's the in-between. Tune in soon to see what Harry makes of him! Or vice-versa. I haven't decided yet. :)

*Also, for our non-British FF author friends, Proms is a huge classical musical festival in which dress is casual and the music is beautiful and grand. Wish I could go! :D


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